I keep starting this post and then stopping because it makes me too sad. But I need to write it. Our little Nutmeg died, two weeks ago now. We miss him.
I can't quantify why it's hit me so hard, exactly. I've never thought I was someone who would love a pet as much as a child. And he had a good long life. But since he died I just keep thinking about our family and who should be part of it, and somehow there's a Nutmeg-shaped hole where he should be. Like the world would just be a little better and happier if he were still in it.
Honestly, sometimes when I thought ahead to Nutmeg's death, the first worry that came to mind was that I might not be able to cry about it! I had prepared myself for the possibility of his dying while we were in Quebec, so any extra time when we got home would be a bonus. He was nearly twelve years old, and we'd read that even ten years is a long life for a bunny. I thought, "He's old. He's had such a good life. I don't want him to suffer. When he goes, it will be time. I am ready. I hope my kids won't think I'm heartless!"
But when the time came I didn't feel prepared, and I did cry. I cried so much. Seb ran upstairs carrying Nutmeg to me two Friday mornings ago, saying urgently, "Something is wrong. He's panting, and he was just lying still in his cage. He didn't even move his paw. I think he's sick!" I couldn't understand what he was saying. I thought he meant Nutmeg had fallen somehow, maybe hurt his leg. I looked at Nutmeg's mouth opening and closing frantically as he breathed (bunnies usually only breathe through their noses) and my stomach wrenched with worry. I put my face right up to Nutmeg's to try and read what was wrong in his eyes. "Nutmeg, what is it, what's wrong? Nutmeg, it's okay! What is it, what's hurting you?" I felt panicked and worried, but I could tell as I looked in his eyes that he was conscious and knew me, and it seemed like if I just tried hard enough I would have to understand him!
I could tell Seb was panicking too, trying to hold onto Nutmeg while he panted and scrambled in his arms. "He's trying to jump away! His muscles are jerking! Something is wrong! We need to call the vet!" I still couldn't process it. "So his leg isn't hurt? Look, he's moving it, maybe he is fine. I'll call someone. Maybe he just needs to rest." Seb took him back to his cage while I frantically searched my phone for vets that treat bunnies (there are none very near us). I tried one place who referred me to another place when Seb, visibly upset, came back with Nutmeg in his arms again. "Hold him! He's scared, he's hurting!" I started shaking myself with the worry of it, and STILL it didn't occur to me this could be anything more than some sudden injury or illness. I took Nutmeg and held him against me, stroking his head and and his ears and his back, talking to him, trying to get him to stop shuddering. "It's okay, Nutmeg; it's going to be okay." Sam came in and I was trying to hand the phone to him as it rang for the other vet. I hadn't even quite realized I was crying but I couldn't talk except to keep trying to soothe Nutmeg. As I stroked him I felt him relax under my hand and I felt a surge of relief that I had calmed him a little. I kept talking to him and petting his soft ears, and then Sam said so softly, "Marilyn, he's not breathing."
It feels too tender to write much about what came next. I have thought more deliberately, since, about how hard it must be when you have lost a child or a husband, to be swept away in those first moments not only by your own grief, but by the emotions of your children or other family members. I had only been able to imagine it in the abstract before, but now it seems even more terrifying and difficult than I had previously thought.
The kids were all so sad. Seb lived with Nutmeg as his only roommate for six months and he loved him SO much. Almost every time we called home from Quebec, Seb was sitting on the floor petting Nutmeg, or Nutmeg was hopping around Seb's legs and playing with him. And Goldie always had a special understanding with Nutmeg too, since he was her "twin" nearly the same age as her. She usually got him out in the evenings when we were watching a movie together and snuggled with him, and when we had to clip his claws she could always hold him to keep him calm.
But everyone, really, seemed to have spent more time than ever with Nutmeg during his last eight months. He was always being snuggled by someone or brought into someone's bed or taken outside to play on the grass or on the hill. Nutmeg was so calm in his old age that he'd lie patiently in even Clementine's lap, closing his eyes happily as she petted him. Everyone loved him more than ever. And so it hurt more than ever when he was gone.
Nutmeg was always really my bunny, even though the kids loved and took care of him, and after he died— while I was trying with such a heavy heart to comfort my crying, devastated children, worrying about how they'd bear it—I heard Seb saying to Sam that he was worried how I would bear it! And I realized his tears were partly out of worry for me! That was a sweet moment. And there were many sweet ones after that, too. Sam was just leaving for work, so he got a shoebox and helped put Nutmeg's body in it, and then he had to leave. But Sebastian sprang immediately into action. While I was still sitting there sadly trying to process what had happened, Seb made a little place for the box to go, surrounded by plants and flowers from the yard. He picked a bouquet of sunflowers and roses to put next to my bed. He got the girls' help in going to the store and getting things for a fresh lunch (watermelon lemonade and cucumber sandwiches) and feeding everyone so I didn't have to. He took Nutmeg's cage outside and cleaned it and pressure washed it, and did a load of laundry, and got Teddy to vacuum and scrub Nutmeg's little area in the family room until it was as clean as new. He looked up animal burial laws and figured out how to take care of Nutmeg's body and where we could dig a little grave. It was so touching to me that his grief took the form of taking care of me and helping do what needed to be done.
The other kids were so sweet, too. Daisy and Teddy went and gathered all the bunnies in the house to come sit in my bed and mourn their Nutmeg friend. Clementine lined them up by size and color.
Teddy made me this little card
When Sam got home, he and Seb and Junie tirelessly dug a grave for Nutmeg in the side yard outside my bedroom window, where I've made a little remembering place for my three little babies who died before they could be born. We've always meant to make a little flower garden there for the babies, and now that Nutmeg was gone I was glad it could be for him too. It's so hard to dig in our rocky soil, but they did it. Junie dug so hard that her arms and shoulders ached for the next week.
I sat on the hill and watched the sunset with Clementine.
It was nearly dark by the time they finished, but we had a little funeral. We sang "Wake up little bunnies" and "God be with you till we meet again" and said a prayer over Nutmeg's grave, and then we sat outside and talked about what a good bunny he was.
The next day Sam and Teddy bought dirt and wall blocks to build up a little rock garden planter above the grave. I got black-eyed susans and marigolds and daffodils to go in the garden, and a weeping cherry that will have pink blossoms in the spring.
All the little kids helped pick out our favorite rocks we've collected over the years to go in the bed…wonderstone from Vernon, agate from Brian Head, geodes from Dugway, granite from Maine, quartz and calcite from British Columbia. They were perhaps a little overzealous in their helpfulness, and I had to remove some of the extra rocks later. :)
Now I have this little garden to look at from my bedroom window.
Nutmeg never really seemed to get uncomfortable in his old age, until those very last few moments at the end. He hopped a little slower, and he was more content to just sit by you, and he didn't like to leap down from the couch like he once did, but he still frolicked outside on the grass sometimes, and nosed curiously at new smells, and perked up whenever anyone said the word "banana." The morning he died, he had happily eaten a little piece of peach Gus had brought him from our breakfast. I'm so glad we didn't have to see him hurting or unable to eat or any other of the sad things that can happen to pets. I'm so glad all the children were home to say goodbye and that I didn't have to call Seb with the sad news. I'm glad he didn't die while we were in Oregon and the girls' friend Ameila was watching him the week before. I'm glad I was holding him and loving him in his last moments.
And I'm just so glad we had him all these years.
The last pictures I had on my phone of Nutmeg were of Goldie snuggling him while watching "Emma."
And of Nutmeg wearing a lei that someone put on him.
And of him happily hiding in the tall grass where the hawks couldn't get him.
And of Junie giving him a hug.
And of the kids gathering around him like acolytes around a priest.
I don't think we could have possibly loved him more than we did. And I don't think he could have possibly repaid our love with more goodness than he did. (Possibly he could have nibbled through fewer charging cables. But it wasn't his fault, it's in his little bunny nature!) We miss him so much! Dear good bunny.
I have done a lot of talking to a very interested Clementine about bodies and spirits these past couple weeks. She is so curious about the difference. Where is her spirit? Where is Nutmeg's body? She wants to know everything. The other day she said, “Mommy, my heart and my spirit and my body feels sad that Nutmeg is dead.”
I feel the same.
